


just say the word and i’ll part the sea

by taizi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Some of that good platonic hance content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 10:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: He picks up Lance’s hand, running his thumb over those beat-up knuckles, and it’s all so familiar it’s like they’re back on earth—standing together outside their junior high school, in a hallway of the garrison, in Hunk’s childhood bedroom, in the surf on a windy beach.





	just say the word and i’ll part the sea

Sometimes Hunk thinks a part of Lance will always be the ten-year-old he met what feels like a lifetime ago—that little boy with a black eye and torn knuckles, standing stubbornly between Hunk and hurt as though it’s the only place he really belongs.

It takes Keith _and_ Hunk to pull him off an alien two times his size. “Say that again,” he’s snarling as they do, “I fucking _dare_ you!” 

A crowd has gathered, but with the dangerous way Pidge’s hand hovers inches away from summoning her bayard and her eyes are narrowed, the altercation deescalates almost as quickly as it started. Lance’s unfortunate acquaintance is helped away by what looks like another of its species. The Paladins remain a tight cluster until the marketplace resumes its regular level of noise and activity. 

“Damn, Lance,” Pidge says at that point, eyebrows lifting to meet her hairline. “You can really throw a punch. I never saw that at the garrison.”

”You have to fight by the book at the garrison,” Keith says. There’s an odd note in his voice, something different in the way he’s looking at Lance—like Lance is suddenly, somehow, a few inches taller. 

Lance yanks himself out of their hands with a scowl and rounds on Hunk. His ferocity is one Hunk knows well, for all that it’s been awhile since it’s had cause to raise its head and growl.

”Hey,” Hunk says before Lance can get a word out, heart so full it’s painful. He picks up Lance’s hand, running his thumb over those beat-up knuckles, and it’s all so familiar it’s like they’re back on earth—standing together outside their junior high school, in a hallway of the garrison, in Hunk’s childhood bedroom, in the surf on a windy beach. “I’m pretty sure I was there when your abuelita gave you that twenty minute lecture on picking fights, dude. If she could see you now, you’d be in for it.”

”You know she was just saying all that to get mom off my back about it,” Lance says with a sharp wave of his free hand. “Abuelita loves you more than she loves _me_. Just like everybody else we know, huh?”

”Liar,” Hunk says, but he’s grinning.

“If Lance hadn’t punched him, I would have,” Keith says suddenly, eyes storm-gray and sharp. “That guy—he had no right. You’re better than all of us, man, all of us put together.”

He’s looking at Hunk and Lance, at their hands, and maybe he gets it. How big this is, how much it matters, why Lance is so angry. He’s the type of person who cares with his fists, too, who isn’t sure how to love quietly. 

“Yeah, what does he know? You’re the _Yellow Paladin_. He _wishes_ he was you.” Pidge adjusts her glasses, glancing at Hunk sidelong and then away again. “Sorry, though. That he said that shit.”

”It’s okay,” Hunk says, smiling easily. A little embarrassed to be the cause of a ruckus, but not hurt. “I know better than to take that kinda thing to heart.”

Lance’s hand turns until he’s holding Hunk’s properly, slim fingers squeezing tight. His eyes are flyaway blue and fearless, like those summer skies they left behind on earth.

They've been here a dozen times before, ten and twelve and fifteen years old, and it always ended the same way—with Lance looking at him the way he’s looking at him now, telling him, _“ignore those assholes, Hunk, they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about,”_ and _“don’t cry, don’t ever cry over them, hermano,”_ and  _“you’re the best person in the whole world, buddy, every inch of you. You’re my favorite.”_

It’s been a long, long time since Hunk has looked into a mirror and hated himself. He remembers being that unhappy child, bigger and slower than everyone else and always alone, but only vaguely. Those unpleasant memories are distant and far apart, like stepping stones peeking out of an overgrown garden; the smallest reminder of where a well-traveled path used to be before it was eaten up by brighter things.

**Author's Note:**

> i found this in my drafts?? lord knows how old it is :’)


End file.
